


The Purled Loin Whip

by Bonfoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Angst, Food Kink, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, One of My Favorites, PWP, Romance, crack!fic, flangst, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonfoi/pseuds/Bonfoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We've all heard about the dangers of "little black books".  This story concerns a very different kind of "little Black book" and the lovers it inspires with lust, love, and laughter.  And licorice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minxie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/gifts).



> Any other day, it’d be **The Purloined Whip** …  
> So, Happy April Fool’s Day 2007!

_Licorice leads to a lot of things, and not all of them involve it…but, they are sweet and tangible! Dedicated to Minxie to insure she laughs loudly, and often._

**Warnings:** Beware large words  
 **A/N:** Never, ever find a creative use of licorice and then follow Minxie’s evil imagination! *LOL*

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life.

This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

* * *

:: ACT ONE ::

 

Headmaster Dumbledore had been a kinky bastard in his heyday. Harry shook his head as he sorted through the former headmaster’s papers and assorted other sundries. Only days after he’d successfully faced down Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange in the shadow of Trafalgar Square, he’d found the strength to do the task he should have done three years earlier.

The picture that lay in Harry’s lap showed a very buff, very masculine, very nude Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. It was an old picture, cast in sepia tones, but Harry’s boner didn’t care if it was colored by little goats running through paint; he was so hard, he was in pain!

The image of an auburn-haired, blue-eyed piece of beefcake still flexed, posed, flashed his nicely-filled cock and winked from…he turned the picture over to read the date notation…1 April 1929 and with love to some bloke named Hyram! The damned fellow even shook his head, allowing his flowing locks to fly like some romantic hero on a lady’s novel while he cavorted. Without conscious thought, the young hero’s left hand had almost wriggled complete underneath his loose waistband, fingers just a hair’s breadth from relieving the pressure in his pants. Unfortunately, Hermione Granger’s timing had never been good in regards to Harry’s sex life.

“Harry? Harry Potter, show yourself!” The steady, heavy click of her heels preceded her body, allowing the poor man to sigh, pluck his left hand out—looking at it as if he’d never seen the appendage before—and flicking the randy picture, which he’d be looking at later, under the cover of night, without any possible interruptions, by anyone one!

Making certain that nothing else incriminating was out of the box, Harry set it on the floor and kicked under the lion-pawed settee. Good thing the damned thing had skirts on it. Hermione pushed open the door to the informal sitting room, one of the three that they’d refurbished after the war. Standing in the doorway, she crossed her arms, tapped her foot and glared at the wizard sitting slouched across the only settee in the room.

“Why weren’t you at the memorial service today, Harry? You said you’d go to this one if we didn’t harangue you anymore. Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Oh Chosen One?” 

The sneer on her face would have done credit to Snape, if the man hadn’t turned over a new leaf after unequivocal proof the Dark Lord was dead—he drank a potion he’d been saving for decades and became the most sought-after Lothario this side of Casanova. While Harry was feeling turned on by the thought of the new Snape, he heard the click-clack of high heels come closer. Somehow he knew he’d get his knuckled rapped, figuratively and physically, all because he’d abstained from doing what Hermione wanted.

Pinching the bridge of his nose—again, in emulation of the old Snape—Harry counted to ten. “Hermione.” The frustration was growled out when he said her name. “When did you become my mother? Why was it so important to go to **this** memorial service? I went to the one at Hogwarts; I shook hands with everyone from school to the Ministry to Beauxbatons to their sister’s-second-cousin’s kids!” he shouted. The portraits on the walls shook, sending their residents off to safer pastures.

His teeth snapped together as he stood up, towering over Hermione for the first time in all the years they’d know each other. The ripple of magic swelled and Hermione found herself dangling upside-down from one ankle while she tried to keep her skirts from draping over her head. “ **HARRY!** ” she screeched at the top of her lungs. The scary ride ended with her on her head as Harry caught sight of her knickers; they were baby-bottom pink with blindingly white lace! Harry’s laughter rang out as his magic dropped the still screeching witch.

“H-h-hermione…” he gasped out, “pink knickers with lace?!” He hiccupped as he watched her awkward machinations to get her skirts back over her bits. “Does…does Ron like those? Or is that some kind of punishment? I m-m-mean, doesn’t it itch?” He leaned over his friend, once more relaxed and calm.

Splayed out at his feet, Hermione _harrumphed_ and pouted like a three-year-old. In a petulant voice, she addressed the air in front of her, “Mr. Potter, the memorial today was to give you the key to Wizarding Britain. It was to be a surprise. Which you so handily ruined by staying in this mausoleum of a creepy home.” She huffed as she wrapped her arms even closer to her chest.

“Mione, Mione, Mione…if you would have told me, I would have gone. Instead you decided to be sneaky and you know I don’t deal well with that.” He extended his right hand to her, helping her up. She eyed him with a jaundiced glare and turned on her heel.

“Well, you can stay here and be maudlin all you want, Harry James Potter! I wash my hands of trying to help you!” The slam of the front door punctuated her exit from the renovated No. 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry couldn’t find it in himself to feel slighted in the least; he had a picture to wank off with!

§§§º§§§º§§§

“Snape…I know you’ve been under every skirt from here to Siberia and back, but would you please pay attention?” Draco Malfoy’s dry tone barely put a damper on Severus’ leer in the direction of a bemused Remus Lupin. After bedding some of the heroines of the Light, he was starting on the males and Lupin had been the only one—other than Lucius and Draco—to turn his advances aside. Not that he minded not having sex with the Malfoys—too much long, blond hair and by far too high-maintenance—he **wanted** the earthy Lupin.

“Oh, pish, Malfoy. I have two ears. My eyes are busy, but my ears are paying attention.” He licked his lips and waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the obstinate lycanthrope. “You are bemoaning the fact that Potter ignored the maneuverings of the Granger chit. You _could_ have invited him personally, you know.” He turned to focus his attention on the Malfoy he’d saved all those years before. “For two months, you moaned his name out while experiencing your nightly emissions. Every time you saw him throughout the war, you gawked like the love-struck twit you are. Be brave again, Malfoy. Go get your man. And on the note, I’m going to go get mine.” The refurbished Severus Snape rose with grace and style, tossed a Galleon on the table, and glided between the tables to his target. Draco didn’t wait to see what happened; he had confidence that Lupin was still in control of the situation.

Stepping out into the afternoon light, Draco thought over his last conversation with his father and shook his head. Even his father—the quintessential British Wizarding example of stiff-upper lip and only sexual in the bedroom—even Lucius Malfoy had practically pushed Draco out into the world to capture Harry Potter’s attention. He could still hear the amused voice: “Draco, it’s a new world. You’re a young man full of piss and vinegar. Go sour someone else’s day. Your mother and I have **things** that need to be done in the garden. And, say _hello_ to Potter, will you? Without that interfering hero complex of his, we wouldn’t be doing **those** things.” And the damned prat shoved his own son out the front door without so much as a by-your-leave.

The hustle-and-bustle of the newly rebuilt Diagon Alley flowed around the somber wizard. Little witches and wizards were stopped and shown one of the unlikely heroes of the last war, all of which was met with soft _oohs_ and _ahhs_. Draco was barely aware of it as he set off towards the Apparation “X” set aside for weary shoppers. He dodged left, right, right, and stood looking up at Blaise Zabini’s foray into mercantilism, The Flexible Joint.

Shoving the clichéd swinging doors open, he bellowed for his former classmate. “ZABINI! Show yer sorry self!”

“Tch, Malfoy. Come up to the bar and then I don’t ‘ave to listen to you screeching like Granger…or is it Parkinson today?” Safe behind his bar, Blaise counted glasses and repaired cracked ones. “Come to audition for tonight’s entertainment? Our inaugural night should be an eye-opener, don’t you think?” He kept one eye on the blond bombshell while he worked; one never knew what multitasking might bring.

Draco slouched on a barstool, leaned his elbows inelegantly against the polished wood, banged a booted foot against the footrail, and gestured imperiously for a drink. When a double-shot of Ogden’s Very Best Firewhisky, lovingly gasped out as “Dragon’s Breath”, slid into his right hand, he smiled, tipped it back and promptly belched blue flames. “Ah…that clears the organs.” He hiccupped a faint orange flame and said, “Excuse me.”

Snapping out a pithy, “My, my, how times have changed, Malfoy. Time was when you wouldn’t deign to rub shoulders with us lowly mortals and you most definitely didn’t use your manners amongst us.” He kept his wand at the ready; one never knew if a Malfoy would bite or simply nod.

“Zabini, if you weren’t the only other smart one of our Slytherin year, I’d hex you. Instead I’ve come to probe that convoluted organ known as your brain.” Draco was utterly relaxed by the Dragon’s Breath—a fact that worked to both their advantages. “You know the most about Scarhead—outside of the Muggleborn and the Pure Twat. I need your insight—and yes, I’ll pay—and if this works out, you’ll be a very well-taken-care-of wizard in your own right.” The blond pushed a scroll across to the still leery man.

Grabbing the scroll and backing away, the darker wizard gestured for another shot of Dragon’s Breath to occupy Malfoy’s hands. He flicked the parchment open and almost fainted; if he could swing what Draco wanted, he’d never have to worry about money or sex again!

“You can do this, Malfoy?” The tremble in his voice wasn’t due to fear but excitement. The dream was almost his. “You can put him in a room with me? No coercion, no potions, no spells…just his own _desire?_ ” His dark eyes were almost black with desire.

“Have I ever offered something I couldn’t give, or at least, get?” Draco internally smirked as he watched the gears grind in Zabini’s head. “You get what you want. I get want I want. We all get something precious.” He stuck out his hand to seal the bargain. “On my honor and magic, I, Draco Malfoy out of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy, do solemnly swear that what I offer is freely given by all concerned.”

His hand was shaken so hard, it practically went numb by the time he got it out of Blaise’s fervent clutch. “So…we have a deal?”

§§§º§§§º§§§

Feeling perverted, Harry wanked once again to the writhing image of a much younger Dumbledore. Somehow, the fact that his orgasms were faintly illicit made them that much more intense. He kind of liked being a “dirty school boy lusting after Teacher.” _Who knew Harry Potter had kinks?_

After the ninth time, Harry thought there must be some spell on the picture and tried to find it. With all his magic, he could find nothing but Dumbledore when he was firm captured in sepia tones. 

A shower and a nap later, Harry roused himself and went rummaging for food. Since Hermione’s abrupt—pink, lacy knickers and all—exit, Harry had wanked, read, and just enjoyed the updated rooms of his… **HIS** …home. There had been so little silence since the end of the war that he’d just reveled in being on his own. Even Ron, sulking at The Burrow over something yet again, had stopped Firecalling him to complain. 

There was more in the box from Dumbledore’s office and Harry had been slowly going through it. Finding a little black book embossed with faint gold lettering, Harry settled back and gently opened it. His eyes widened when he saw the title page:

  
_Biblio Noir de Amour: A Black Book of Love_   


_Titillation and Excitation for the Discerning Wizard_

_Circa 1867_

_Paris, France_

~~~

Property of Phineas Nigellus Black

He grinned as he realized he finally had something to shut up the snide former headmaster’s portrait. “Oh, you randy bugger, Nigellus!” he crowed under his breath. With each turned page, his breath grew more labored and his trousers grew tighter. There were detailed drawings and daguerreotypes—all of which were spelled to move—and arousing passages that filled in any details the images missed. Harry Potter, all-around goody-two-shoes Gryffindor, was absolutely thrilled!

“Oh, yeah!” His left hand had done it again and was wrapped familiarly around his aching cock, even trapped as it was under his zipper. He relaxed his body and propped the book on the settee while he unzipped and brought himself off. “Oh, yeah…ye…YES!” The jism shot out over the faded Persian carpet in a long pearly rope. Some days, he felt like an Olympic athlete watching it arc away from his body. He drew in a shuddering breath and squinted at the book. “You and I are going to be great friends, Little Black Book,” he muttered before he passed out. 

Too bad for Harry that he hadn’t revoked Draco Malfoy’s right-of-entry to Grimmauld Place. Very good for Draco that Harry Potter was sleeping off his morning’s happy wank…work…with cock still out, proudly soft and pink, and a smile on his peaceful face. The sight would be fodder for sexual fantasies galore. The glimpse of the little book drew him even farther into the room. 

While Harry dozed, exposed but unknowingly protected, Draco snatched up the book and draped himself over the arms of a comfortable green leather wingback armchair. An hour passed with dancing dust motes and the sliding sunlight; neither man stirred much, but the peace would be shattered by the one and only Hermione Granger.

_** Crash! **_

The heavy front door of Grimmauld Place must have bounced and then closed behind the whirlwind that had thrust it open. Thank goodness Harry had permanently silence Mrs. Black; otherwise, she’d have alerted the Muggle neighbors of the house that shouldn’t exist. All of which had Harry rolling off the settee into a battle-ready crouch, even if his cock was still hanging out of his trousers.

“Oi, Potter.” Draco knew a soft, calm voice would go a long way to his seeing tomorrow alive. “Put yourself away or she’ll be yanking that along with any stray hair she grabs hold of.” Drawing in a stiff breath through his nose, Harry did as he was told before Hermione found them.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Potter?!” Hermione was almost beautiful in her fury, as undeserved as it was. “How could you send him to Zabini of all people? That…that **hussy** has him in his clutches! You know I was just waiting for him to stop sulking!” She picked up a first edition of _[William Shakespeare’s First Folio](http://www2.lib.virginia.edu/digitalcuration/etext_shakespeare.html)_ and brandished it like a brick. “Was it you, Malfoy? Did you blow Harry and laugh while you swallowed him? Did you two plan on stealing Ron away from me?” Her voice had gotten lower and lower as she went on. “Did you find it amusing to steal away the man I wore lacy knickers for?”

Casting _Stupefy_ on his closest female friend, Harry stepped closer. “Hermione…what you were waiting for wasn’t going to happen. Ron **likes** dressing in evening gowns and sashaying around. He **wants** someone who loves him for all of him.” He leaned forward and whispered gently, “He **loves** to be the one wearing the lacy knickers.” With Draco in the room, he knew he could safely turn his back to return to his seat.

Hermione bawled like the little girl she was. Still stuck upright, it was a strange and disturbing sight. Draco merely sat back and observed the formerly repressed Gryffindor Lioness blotch up. Harry patted the cushions, looking for his little black Black Book. The blond gestured with one hand as the other flashed the book. Harry’s blush looked much better than Hermione’s reddened face.

“All right, Hermione. Enough is enough.” She was hiccupping and rolling her eyes at the comments. “You and Ron broke up. You did not like Ron’s predilection for long gowns of figured velvet and satiny underthings. You told me; you told the ruddy Wizarding World of Britain! If…and I do mean **if** …Zabini got smart enough—or found someone smart enough to think it through for him—he would make Ron very happy. Seriously, you’re the one that told me about Zabini wanting you to knit a licorice whip thong and wear it under something long!” Draco choked back a shocked snicker; he hadn’t known about _that!_

Harry continued while Hermione struggled to overthrow the spell. “Aren’t you the one that harped on and on about ‘setting him free, and that if he comes back, it was meant to be’?” He stared at her, hard, wanting her to remember that there were other fish in the sea. “Ron came through the war changed; so did we. Why won’t you let the poor transvestite go?” Draco’s outright guffaw broke the tension in the room and Harry had to chuckle at his own words.

“If I was into transvestites, I’d be on Ron like clotted cream on strawberry jam-covered scones. But, I’m not and Zabini is. Hell, Hermione you’re the one that pointed out Zabini’s panting.” He cast the counterspell silently, aware that his friend had more than likely tensed up so she’d end up spilling across the floor, limp like a dishrag. Harry stood over as she crumpled just like he’d known she would. “You just got comfortable, in a rut. There are other wizards—very hetero ones—that would love to get to know you.” He bent closer, still wary but confident of Draco’s protective reflexes. “I heard that Neville was going into Herbology research at Oxford Wizarding Uni…Aren’t you scheduled to start attending this Fall?”

At Harry’s feet, Hermione fought to keep her temper and think logically about the situation with Ron. As the war progressed, she’d seen him grow and change from the hotheaded boy she’d fallen in love with to the self-contained, almost restrained, young man who had a yen to dress in drag during peaceful moments. At first, she’d tried to be understanding, but when he looked better in purple figured velvet edged in ermine than she did, she’d blown her lid spectacularly. Ron had run back home to hide behind his family—and raid his mother’s attic. “You say Neville got into the Research curriculum? Is his grandmother still holding the purse strings?” She pulled at her bottom lip as she thought her way through the argument for Neville: “He **did** turn out nicely, though, didn’t he? I mean, the arse he kept hidden under his robes is so round and hard, you could bounce ten Galleons off of it…” Her voice trailed away as she realized she’d said that last bit out loud.

Neither Harry nor Draco held back as they laughed at her thunderstruck expression. Draco summed it up for both of them. “Go forth and conquer, Granger. Somehow, I have a feeling Longbottom’s into domination and you’re the witch to give it to him.”

§§§º§§§º§§§

Draco’s face was almost sore, he’d been laughing and smiling for what seemed like hours. “So…what can a wizard eat around here?” He sat still as Harry stalked over and yanked the Black Book from the folds of his robe. “Hey!”

“Malfoy, just because you can enter my home does not mean you can take my reading material.” Any other wizard would have been mortified once he remembered that Draco had come in when he was recovering from a good wank. Not Harry-Gryffindor-To-The-End-Potter! “Just because you saved me from showing Hermione my own personal ‘sword’…well, that doesn’t give you **that** much leeway. My house, my book, my sexual doings.” With that still ringing in the air, he shoved his left hand down his pants and pulsed it on his renewed and refreshed member.

The “O” of surprise that Malfoy’s mouth had gotten stuck in was awfully tempting, but Harry just staggered back to his settee. Once sprawled back, he unzipped again and regaled his former schoolyard nemesis with a performance of “Harry’s favorite twists” with regard to the handling of his penis. 

Soon, Draco’s right hand was undoing his own britches, snaking past old-fashioned linen undergarments to bring forth his throbbing shaft. Within ten minutes, the two of them were crying out in release of come and tension.

Twenty minutes later, both wizards roused themselves and shared a grimace at the sticky residue left after the pleasures they’d almost shared. Draco’s wandwork was a bit better than Harry’s, but it did almost clean the shine off of the leather wingback. His _grr_ of irritation sparked Harry’s sense of humor and he laughed so hard, he rolled off the settee.

“I’m glad I’ve entertained you, Potter. Now, if you’d be so kind? I’m starved.” The blond’s relaxed voice cut across the last of Harry’s chuckles and reminded him, he too was hungry.

“C’mon, Malfoy. Since we’ve shared an orgasm, we may as well share a few cucumber sandwiches.” He climbed to his feet, gestured for Draco to follow and led the way to the kitchen where they set about finding supper and making tea. The rest of the evening passed with stories and memories, making each wizard feel that much lighter, and that much closer. 

It would a few hours before they stumbled upstairs and got down to more interpersonal interaction. “C’mere, Malfoy…come share my bed.”

§§§º§§§º§§§

_~~~ Comments, like rain in the desert, are greatly appreciated.  
Thank you for reading. ~~~_


	2. Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus Dumbledore’s pictures are finding their way into some interesting places. Some where licorice might even be invoked!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Minxie so that she guffaws whilst trying not to snort water…

**Warnings:** Beware large words and overblown sentiment  
 **A/N:** I tried so hard for purple prose, but I seemed to have ended up with a lot of alliteration. And, some very, very, very descriptive sentences. But, there’s licorice!

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life.

This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

* * *

:: Act Two ::

 

The box had been shoved up into the attic for some reason. But, Ron being Ron, he found it, even if his Mum didn’t want him to. It had come from Dumbledore’s office, filled with amazing recipes for sweets and puddings, and some other things.

The old picture was gorgeous. Ron knew he not only swung both ways, but liked the view from along the fence line. This picture just confirmed it. Posed lasciviously on a turn-of-the-century—that’s Nineteenth to Twentieth—iron bedstead, the subject (a male) was clad in a sheer gown of organza (he find out about that later), seemingly dampened to show more of its not-so-hidden secrets. His long auburn hair was piled in a Pompadour with one curl hanging to the left side, down his neck and across his chest. The magical tintype writhed and bucked as one long stocking-clad leg was hooked over the iron footrail and the busy left hand was swathed in yards of material, rubbing what looked like a pearl necklace into a very respectable cock. Ron’s eyes had been glued to the picture counting down over and over again to the arcing explosion of white for almost twenty minutes before he began searching for his own fancy gown. Once he turned the picture over, he found the inscription was to “Hyram, A wizard hung most glorious and fair! Love, Albie”. _Lucky Hyram!_

Weasleys were a curious sort, and, of course, Ron was no different; he began rooting through the recesses of The Burrow, looking for more goodies. One blessed day, he came across a marvelous book, hidden in a tatty ol’ carpet bag stuck behind some rickety bed frames. The attic of The Burrow had yielded plenty for the young man to work with. And, the sepia image of Albie brought great joy to Ron every time he took it from his magic wallet. The day he found an organza dayrobe and recreated the picture caused the portrait of his grandfather, Septimus Weasley, to swear off unmasculine women for the rest of his painted days.

“Granddad Septimus, how do you reckon this bloke knew he liked women’s clothes?” After putting his first set of gowns together, Ron was feeling talkative. “I mean, it’s not like he rolled over in bed and said, ‘Hey, today I’ll wear the knickers ‘stead of the pants’, is it?” He chewed his roast beef on mustard-drowned rye sandwich with a considerate air.

“Grandson, it takes a mighty wizard to know when to wear skirts and when to get under ’em.”

§§§º§§§º§§§

With the information Draco gave him, Blaise had Firecalled Ron to him. He was no brainiac or bibliophile like Granger, but, he did possess his own **Biblio Noir de Amour** —like all old and venerable families—and he’d researched it (i.e., drooled over it) extensively. With his own Gryffindor to share in his amorous experiments, he’d be certain to finally make it through the whole book by the time he was a hundred.

“Put your hand _back_ , Zabini!” Ron demanded. His furious shimmy had the grinning wizard complying.

“C’mere, Red. I’ve a got bed that just waiting for you drape over it.”

After several soft kisses and a slow bumping walk up the stairs, Ron Weasley, dressed to the nines in a long, slinky, pearlescent off-white satin sheathe complete with pearl choker and the visible outline of snap-top garters distracted Blaise—as if he could tear his dark eyes away from the delicious redhead on the Slytherin green duvet. “You look _**good**_ , Rona…it’s as if a goddess stepped from her pedestal to mix with us mortals. Care to have me worship at your feet?” He waggled his eyebrows as he spoke.

“Thank you, Blaise,” purred a very contented male. Ever since the war, Ron’s personality had blossomed, until finally he decided that his so-called fetish for looking damned fine in evening gowns and floor-length lingerie was a part of him that he wasn’t going to give up…not even to get laid. Besides, _his_ ice-pink lacy undies looked much better than Hermione’s, on or off! Thus, when dressed for seduction, he was Rona, and that was that!

Zabini’s curly hair bobbed around his face as he turned this way and that, looking for something in the bedroom. “Blaise, I’m right here,” Rona’s husky voice purred. The swish-swish of gentle fingertips brushing against satin and pearls was beginning to impinge on Zabini’s mind, but he had to find his book! He tugged his shirt over his head without bothering to unbutton it and earned a rousing “huzzah” for his efforts.

Finally, he dropped to his knees next to the bed—which brought him face-to-crotch with an enterprising, and slippery Weasley—but, he manfully attempted to stretch one arm under the bed, patting around, while the other reached toward the bulge just inches away. “You do realize that Malfoy reminded me of something all Pureblood Families have locked in attics and hidden under the floorboards, don’t you?” While Blaise’s eyes were following what his lucky arm was doing, Rona had pulled a small black leather book from under his arse. He flashed the title page too fast for those glazing dark eyes to see:

_Biblio Noir de Amour: A Black Book of Love_

_Titillation and Excitation for the Discerning Wizard_

_Circa 1867_

_Paris, France_

~~_Property of Ignatius Prewett_~~

Property of Ronald Bilius Weasley

“Let’s see…ah, here’s one…Knit licorice with a gentle hand. Make certain that there is enough room for expanded cock or prepare to eat licorice without the whip….”

Never one to look a gift horse—or an extremely lovely, extremely well-endowed lover—in the mouth when he could be ravishing said orifice, the darker man pulled himself up over the edge of the bed by the sheer strength of his kiss. Or at least that’s how it seemed to the two entangled on the bed, rolling and sliding along each other’s lengths. The room temperature rose by a degree or ten as they explored each other’s tonsils.

Thrusting and moaning, Rona’s disjointed voice slipped past determined lips that kept sucking the breath from his body. “I…know…how to…knit…” The response was a heated mouth that must have Apparated from north to south, because there was not way to explain how Blaise Zabini was inhaling Rona’s cock, satin sheathe and all! “Guh!”

No one looking on the mass of dark and light, red and black, satin and skin, would have had a doubt at Rona’s enjoyment. Hermione had been intimidated by all the frou-frou surrounding his ten inches. But, Zabini…. “Ooooo….yeeessss….” He must have read the damned Little Black Book a thousand times, and practiced several million more, to get the pressure and the tooth-scraping _just so!_

“Waaaa….wan…want to…” Blaise had practically sucked the knowledge of speech right out of Rona’s nether head. Finally, the message from the brain bypassed the mouth for the arms; both of them went from holding on to the spindles of the headboard to dropping the hands onto curly, springy locks that were becoming matted with sweat. Unfortunately, whatever he wanted wasn’t going to happen.

_** Crash! **_

“Master! Master! We’s sorry!” A horde of house-elves rolled into the room, shouting out apologies before popping away in fear. A lone elf, covered in rag-rug armor saluted him with a sawed-off broom as he retreated.

The triple-warded, potion-reinforced door of the bedroom hung open to show a red-faced Pansy Parkinson. She looked rough; she must have fought her way past the Snap Dragons and the house-elves by the skin of her teeth. She also happened to be waving a scroll around like it was a saber.

Both men on the bed slipped over the edge, courtesy of Rona’s slinky, slippery satin lingerie confection. All that could be seen was the redhead’s right foot flexing in its thigh-high since Blaise’s head had landed right back where it had started. “Guuuuh!”

“Now see here, Zabini! Just because you’re all dark and Slytherin and…and…dark and dangerous and…You know what I mean!” The screech peeled paint from portraits in the hall, scattering decades of various ancestors to less dangerous venues. It **didn’t** stop Blaise’s reflexive sucking or Rona’s enjoyment of the act, although, it did cause the Gryffindor in the room to push up so he could see over the bed.

“Guh…Go’way! Go’way n-n-noooooww!” The body could no longer hold back and Blaise was rewarded with feeling—he was beyond seeing as he’d chewed a hole through the lovely fabric to get at the treat inside—and was sucking the very being of his own Gryffindor straight through the slit! The heaving, writhing and gasping drowned out everything, except for his own considerable grunts, but the sheer volume of Weasley rapture—both physical and audible—reassured him of his prowess. Unfortunately, he had to come back to Earth and a flabbergasted pug. **Damn!**

Parkinson would never have thought Ron Weasley in drag was very enticing. She was proved wrong by the flushed and grinning Blaise Zabini who looked the cat who got the cream. “Can I help you, Pansy? Get lost on yer way to the loo? Needed some field research in the art of pleasuring a Gryffindor?” snarked a raspy-voiced ex-Slytherin. Somehow, his wand was in his hand, and he was whispering a hex that would keep her from sitting down for days. Unfortunately, she didn’t leave the room, or the house, immediately.

“It’s _your_ fault, isn’t it?” Again, the screech did unspeakable things to the furniture. She unraveled the scroll and read aloud from it, even as she began shimmying and rubbing up and down against the blasted doorframe:

> Dear Pug-face,

> I’ve found myself a Gryffindor. With the help of a friend—which you’ve never been—I’m getting laid six ways from Sunday.

> We are unengaged! Now, scamper off and run wild.

> _Draco Malfoy_

“You’re his friend…who’s this Gryffindor he’s blathering about? (Are my panties melting? Why’re my titties so tight?)” She once again brandished the scroll as if she were disemboweling someone—most likely Draco. Her gyrations were getting wilder as the moments passed, until she finally turned and began rutting against the doorknob. Unfortunately, she kept on talking.

“Yuh…you know….duh…don’t…don’t…you? (Ungh! Sum…som’thing wer…weird…oooo….)” A not-so-sneaky spell from Rona’s wand had her silenced and petrified. Some things just should not be seen by a sweetly-raised transvestite.

“Blaise…either she goes or I go. Seeing as how you keep chewing more of my lingerie, I take it I’m staying?” A fervent nod in his tummy and a quick tongue-poke in his belly-button confirmed it. “Well, my darling barkeep, you need to call a house-elf to take out the trash, fix the door, and bring us some licorice laces.” A groan through the groin greeted that sally. Rona grinned. “Oh, and Pansy…that shade of puce is _**so**_ last year.”

Blaise’s head had to be forcibly removed from Rona’s lap numerous times until everything was taken care of. Ron didn’t mind. The sight of Parkinson’s eyes as he stood up, cock at attention, poking through a gnawed hole in the most expensive lingerie this side of Paris was hilarious. The worship that his new lover paid to him was downright worth every penny he was going to have to pay to replace said article of seduction. The satisfaction of seeing the door closed once again was nothing compared to the ecstasy Blaise felt when Rona’s sheathe came off and Ron bent him against the headboard, a string of pearl beads definitely not around anyone’s neck.

§§§º§§§º§§§

“Um…Blaise…what were you looking for earlier?” Good sex could clear the sinuses—great sex could shake random thoughts loose—which happened in this case. He laid a stray piece of licorice lace in-between the pages of his Little Black Book as a marker, then licked his long fingers absentmindedly. After Pansy’s removal, the licorice had shown up, but Ron’s talented fingers had tied it into bows all-around Blaise’s cock; it made a very filling snack.

Curled across Ron’s broad chest, Blaise thought about it…for a while. But, the sight of all that creamy polka-dotted flesh had him salivating for more sweets. “Wanna lick…” he muttered.

“Licorice? Oh, well, all right…” Ron slid out from under him and reached for more of the candy. 

“Ye’ve got a licorice lace stuck in yer crack. Yum.” Blaise may have overloaded on Ron’s body; he was sex-addled. “Oh, yeah, just enticin’ me to suck the color right off’n it.” Which, he proceeded do.

After a few hours napping, the two wizards began flipping through the page of Ron’s Little Black Book. Several times, Blaise pointed out several contortions he’d never thought to attempt because, well, he had never been attracted to any other very tall men other than Ron. Two well-handled pieces later, they came to and grabbed the book again.

“Ya reckon you’ve ‘ad yer fill for a bit?” Ron’s voice rumbled through Zabini’s limp body. He didn’t think there was anything left to get excited. A freckled hand can up and fingers snapped in front of his dazed face. “Do ya always get so excited?”

Somehow, Blaise nodded under Ron’s chin. He gasped out, “Shoulda got my own Gryffin years ago.” 

Ron muttered something about Slytherin sex-gods-in-training and knitting as he spotted the corner of another black book peeping out from under the remains of his lingerie. “Blaise, feed me and then I’ll show you some tricks one can do with lollies.”

“ELF! FOOD! **NOW!** ”

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_~~~ Comments, like rain in the desert, are greatly appreciated.  
Thank you for reading. ~~~_


	3. Act Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Severus received the Biblio de Noir Amour, he knew it would come in handy. Tho’ why it took twenty years was beyond him…and when did Lupin learn about licorice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May it continue to spread smiles and chuckles that ripple throughout everyone’s days!
> 
> Dedicated to Minxie so that her laughter rings out loud and clear! May she not fall off her rocker when she sees I’ve posted...again!

**Warnings:** Alliteration is still alive and kicking!

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life.

This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

* * *

:: Act Three ::

_Remus Lupin stood in front of a mirror, twisting this way and that. “Bouncing there, acting as if it’s perfectly natural to want to have Snape’s sneering, snide, sexy…” He looked down at the headstrong cock. “You made me say **sexy!** Damn you, you pernicious piece of penis!” He made to choke the appendage and realized that’s what it wanted all along._

_“No, no, no, and NO! I will not have nightly emissions due to the long, cool drink of water…” He tightened his grip on his own flesh, which wrenched a groan and a growl of satisfaction out of him. “You’re manipulating me…well, you’re making me manipulate **me** …all because the svelte git… **svelte?**...licked his lips as he looked me over at lunch?” The flesh pulsed in his hands, hardening even more._

_“Fine,” he roared, “Fine. I’ll give you what you want, you wanker! Wankee? Wanker!” His strong hands alternated tugging and grasping, reaching under and then smoothing away, until the mirror bore the distinct evidence of clotted cream pearls. Which, as they ran down, traced the silhouette of Severus Snape._

The Wolfsbane Potion must have been tainted. Yes, that’s it! Somehow, Snape slipped him a mickey and spiked the potion. Remus’ fuzzy thoughts as he recovered from the effects of the Full Moon didn’t explain why he’d clawed a knothole out or why it was redolent of spunk, but he didn’t want to dwell.

“Must not let him get to me. Must not let him get to me.” Over and over, during the day, the lycanthrope repeated that mantra. After a while, he even found himself changing the stress on the words and making it lascivious. “Must not. Let him. Get to me,” seemed the most common one.

Grabbing his shaggy hair in both hands and howling, Remus tried to think. But, as tired as he was, and as sore, his left hand again wrapped itself around the traitor in his midst and began sliding up and down. “Oh…I give up! C’mon, Snape…c’mon…yeah…nuh, yeah…like that….fingers, fingers under…push, push….guh…yeah, yeah, gonna come…come…COMING!” He exploded over his hand, the floor, and the brand new shoes he’d treated himself to.

“Damn! I like Snape.” The disbelieving tone could have curdled milk. Luckily for him, Severus knew how to sweeten sour.

§§§º§§§º§§§

Slouched in his favorite ladder-back oak chair, stylishly clad legs crossed at the ankles, and feet resting on the baize desk protector, Severus Snape flipped the yellowed pages of an interesting book that had come to him via the late Headmaster Dumbledore. The inscription said it so well:

> Dear Severus,  
>  To each generation, a simple but elegant book is passed on.
> 
> I have always considered you the son I would have been proud to call my own. Since you have never evinced a preference for my ever-present lemon drops, I chose to give you this small tome.
> 
> It is my dearest wish that you use it in the healthful pursuit of your heart’s desires. May you find that sour that sweetens your life.
> 
> _As Edmund Spenser said, “Be bolde, Be bolde, and everywhere, Be bolde.” *_
> 
> Albus

Every time Severus read those words, he felt as if the old dear was still about, watching over his charges with twinkling eyes and lemony breath.

He flipped to page sixty-six and stared at the lovely diagram there. Albus Dumbledore had had more kinks than lemon drops, and here was the proof. Tiny notes littered the margins, with schematics that illustrated changes from the original. Twirling his long black hair around one finger, he feathered the ends over his pursed lips and pictured the Werewolf in place of the two-dimensional figure on the receiving end. “Ah, Remus…just how good would you look against _**my**_ wall?”

His dark eyes glazed over as he pictured a robust, heaving, writhing mass of densely muscled, very masculine Lupin chained between the massive bookcases of his library. The shelves would be shaking and quivering as the amber-eyed beauty would respond to his touch, his pleas, his direction.

The bulge in his pants practically leapt through the unbuttoned placket of his trousers, springing fully-erect in his right hand. Still, he sucked on the hair he’d been playing with, his left hand holding the pages open. As he grunted and moaned, the images in the folio grew frantic and finally, as he shot a length of pearly rope across his stomach and lap, the two little figures came as well, pencil-thin representations of jism crisscrossing the page.

“Merlin…” a surprised voice breathed out.

Holding himself still, then composedly putting himself back into his trousers and magicking away the evidence of his enjoyment, Snape—the persona he’d honed over decades—grimaced at the thought that he’d been a sight for **those** eyes! “Did you forget to knock or are you suicidal?” He knew that when he turned around, there Draco Malfoy would be standing…more than likely attached to Potter.

“He’s not here, you know. And, if he were, we’d have been out the door faster than the newest Flaming Star Broom. And, since I’m not curious—or suicidal—I just wanted to ask you about a good gift for Zabini’s conquest of the Weasley. But…dare I posit the identity of the fantasy you emitted over?” Malfoy dived behind a sofa just before a hex came his way. He yelled, “Lupin, eh? Well, Gryffidors do have hidden depths, old man! He’d make you stretch your inner Slytherin and then some.”

Fifteen minutes of hexes and shielding spells served to cool both Severus’ ardor and his temper. The two wizards were panting at opposite ends of the room, but neither was unhappy with his performance. “Whelp…” Snape gasped out, “why are you here at this hour? Don’t tell me your Potter kicked you out so he could finally sleep?”

Draco slid to his side on the floor, one eye glaring at his mentor. “Nyah, he’s shopping with Weasley. Never thought the prat had such good color-sense but the ginger-top truly does. I’m at loose ends what with Zabini drooling after Ronald and Harry spending his money to make me happy.” He flopped over onto his back, one eye still on the sneakiest of Slytherins. “Why are you all alone, old man?”

Standing up and casting a straightening charm, Severus once again looked the epitome of sexy, hexy vampiric Potions master. He stared down his impressive proboscis and grinned like a loon. “I wasn’t alone. Lupin and I were enjoying each other’s company up _here_.” He indicated his forehead.

“Huh…Gryffindor made you crazy, did he? You know, if you stopped dallying with the plebeians, you’d more than likely find yourself happily exhausted by Lupin.” Rolling over, Malfoy jumped to his feet, brushing a negligent hand over himself to remove nonexistent dust. “With Zabini and I as role models…” He sniffed at Severus’ wry face. “All right then, guinea pigs that have proved the rule, you know you’ll be delirious when you catch the bugger.”

“Draco, I appreciate the fact that your youth makes you _believe_ you are invincible, and even promotes the illusion that I cherish your existence, but, I am a wizard grown, and I too am a recipient of a Biblio de Noir Amour of my own. I’d swear there was a lust spell woven into the very ink of the thing, but every enchantment I’ve cast upon it shows it to be just what it purports to be: a very detailed book of sexual mechanics.” He picked up the little black book and looked at the flyleaf:

_Biblio Noir de Amour: A Black Book of Love_

_Titillation and Excitation for the Discerning Wizard_

_Circa 1867_

_Paris, France_

_~~Property of Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore~~ _

~*~

**Property of Severus Snape**

Malfoy threw a piercing look at the tall, thin man gazing off into the distance. He cleared his throat and warily seated himself near the door. “Severus, you’ve bedded and generally sexed your snarky way through the heroes of the War. Why are you so adamant about leaving Lupin hanging in the breeze? I mean, really! He almost pants at the sight of you; he growls when you ignore him; and, he’s even sabotaged some of your trysts.”

“What did you say? Sabotage? How the hell do you know, Malfoy?” The flags were flying in those not-so-sallow-anymore cheeks; the man’s temper was well and truly engaged. The fact that his wand was beginning a complicated variation of the Bat Bogey Hex was also an indicator things had gone downhill.

“Severus! Stop waving your wand and listen closely…You’ve got Lupin so tied-up in knots that he’s subconsciously doing things to make certain you aren’t focusing your attentions for too long on anyone else.” Draco wouldn’t show he was sweating, but when he got home to Harry, they were going to take a very steamy bath; he’d have to wash off those annoying Gryffindorish tendencies he’d been infected with. Hands up in the age-old sign of innocence, the blond turned himself to make less of a target. “He follows you around and watches. He makes note of who you’re with, how long, and what progress you’re making. Hell, man, he’s been seen drooling over your arse for at least a decade according to McGonagall.” _Harry so owed him the sexual fantasy of the millennium for selling the Werewolf to the Potions master._

The wand stopped waving, the wrist ceased flicking and there was a definite lack of swish; Draco internally sighed with relief. He could see Severus’ defenses crumbling as the idea of Lupin lusting took root. “You mean to tell me the other professors of Hogwarts **knew** of this?” His impressive nostrils quivered as he inhaled his ire. “Do tell me more, Mr. Malfoy.” That tone of voice had Draco straightening like an errant school boy. “I want dates and all other pertinent details. Otherwise, you will be luring your paramour here for a grueling session of twenty questions.”

“Um, sir, would it be possible for me to step out to the loo first?”

§§§º§§§º§§§

“Remy!” Harry snapped his fingers in front of unfocused eyes. After an afternoon of shopping with Ron Weasley—finding out that even Harry James Potter could be taught what materials would be best for sexual fantasies—he needed his tea, scones and clotted cream. However, he hadn’t thought to run into his adopted godfather in the Cuppa Teahouse.

“Wha!? Oh, it’s you, Harry. Sit down and tell me about your young man. Is he as good to you as he should be?” Remus’ soft eyes took in Harry’s smiling face and blushing cheeks. “I’d say he’s taking quite good care of my favorite adopted godson, wouldn’t you?”

Harry grinned and ducked under his bangs, trying to hide his furious blush. “Yeah…you could say that we spoil each other. Remy, he’s so deep, it would be scary if I weren’t a Gryffindor!” he gushed. “But, why are you here? Alone? I thought you were going to spend some time discussing those dry books you’d found in the attic with Snape?” His green eyes sharpened as he looked for the signs Draco had mentioned: slight flush, dilated pupils, and evasive answers. They were all there. Damn, Draco was observant!

“Oh…well…” The blunt fingers of one hand traced an abstract design on the tablecloth while Remus lied to Harry. “I didn’t feel up to being sniped at this afternoon. Besides, you know how much I love to people-watch.” The tracing didn’t stop until Harry’s own hand was laid down and bringing his godfather’s eyes up to his.

“Remus…I hate to tell you this, but everyone—and I include myself and Draco in there—knows just how much you’re hankering after the Snapely one. Why are you denying yourself a chance at happiness? Slytherins are a great foil for Gryffindors, and they keep us on our toes as well. And, really now…aren’t you just as brave as Ron and I?” Staring into those brown eyes, Harry knew he’d scored a hit, a palpable hit, with that drivel.

“Are you telling me that everyone—by which I take you to mean all the witches and wizards I have to deal with on a daily basis—have seen me almost drooling over the sexy git?” Remus screeched. Several heads turned to look at the men, smirking at the truth of the comment. “Oh, toss off, you ninnies! This is a private conversation!” he then yelled, flourishing his wand at the nosy-parkers.

Laughing into his napkin, Harry Potter resolved to let Draco dress him in bodice and garters tonight as a reward for being so observant. “Remus, if you don’t want everyone pointing and laughing at you, why don’t you just go out and catch your own Slytherin? Those kinky buggers are worth every bit of snark and attitude, especially if you chain them to the wall every once in a while.”

Taking a gulp of air and one of tea, the former professor fought to settle himself. His voice quivered as he looked deeply into Harry’s green eyes. “If you can help me find myself with an armful of Severus Snape, willing, able, and randy, I would be thankful. I’m so horny, I could mount a hound!”

§§§º§§§º§§§

Standing outside the heavy oak door of Severus Snape’s home, Remus Lupin felt like he was high on foxglove. There should have been no way, no how, that he would talked into paying a visit to Snape, and bringing the insufferably sexy, slinky… **none of that now!** …git his favorite sweet, Licorice Whips. In fact, the box in his arms was huge, carved all over with anise plants and whimsical ivies of strawberry red, touting the product inside as the closest to heavenly sweets as one could come without being an angel.

“There is no way that Severus could be considered an angel…fallen more than likely, but definitely no harp-stroking, white-feathered angelic being,” Remus muttered to himself as the door chimes rang. He scuffed his worn oxfords against a mud rail and stared anywhere but at the door that might just be leading to his own insanity. “Why, oh why, did I listen to that boy?”

“Probably the same reason I listened to his partner-in-crime, Malfoy. For recalcitrant schoolboys-cum-saviors they seem to know a thing or two about attraction, and the giving-into-it thereof. Mr. Lupin, please enter my humble home.” Severus had been gazing at Remus for seconds before he heard the muttering; better to catch him off-guard than to be caught so himself. “I do so adore a good Licorice Whip and I see you’ve found my favorite brand. Thank you for the gift.” He looked deep into those soft eyes that were dazed with lust and something even sweeter than licorice. “I will cherish the thought and use the box for only sweet memories.” The sap dripped from his lips as if he’d swallowed a romantic poem.

Remus clutched the box of whips to his chest and stepped into the cool foyer, right past the svelte body of his desiring. A dark green satin shirt molded itself over those lean muscles and brought to mind lush jungles and primitive rites. Even the black linen trousers were sinfully flowing against those powerful thighs. The lump in Lupin’s throat grew in proportion to the bulge he thought he’d glimpsed in passing.

“Follow me. Malfoy and Potter sent over a crate of those books you found in the Black attic.” He led the way to a bright, warm study, filled not only with books and illustrations but a plethora of exotic flowering plants scenting the air. “Oh, you’ve noticed the plants. Longbottom discovered some of them during his honeymoon, and with some complex spellwork, we found out that they have the unique ability to preserve printed matter. You’ll be seeing more and more of them soon; we’ve got permission to use them in the Hogwarts Library.” He gestured for Remus to take a seat and sat back, relaxed like the spider who’d snared his very own lusty fly.

“Would you like some tea? I collected my own herbs and flowers for quite a soothing brew if I do say so myself. There’s some steeping, if you so choose.” Dark eyes stared at the vision perched on the edge of a wingback chair. Breathing deeply, he even caught the scent of warm leather, even warmer man, and the fragrance of his shaving cream; if he let himself go, he would be begging soon since the smells were so invigorating.

Blinking as if he were coming out of a daze, Remus remembered his manners. “Um…a cuppa would be welcome. And the plants are fantastic. They have a very faint odor, very pleasing. Where…where would you like the licorice?” He cast a wry glance around the room. “I don’t think that this is the place you want them.” His shy grin nearly broke Severus’ will.

“Oh, this is the correct location for my Licorice Whips, Lupin. I often snack on them when I’m reading.” He stood and retrieved the box from Remus’ slack grip, making certain to slide his fingers against Remus’. “I’ll just set this here on the desk in pride of place and get your tea. Two spoonfuls of honey, yes?”

“Why, yes. How did you know? I didn’t drink my tea that way at Hogwarts.” Remus’ left leg began bouncing up and down. “I apologize for being nervous. It’s not every day I woo…wonder what you do for relaxation.” He gulped and tried to stop fidgeting but to no avail. The clatter of a bone-china cup on its saucer merely highlighted his dilemma.

Keeping his satin-clad back to the lycanthrope, Severus spoke, “Lupin…Remus…I went from being the Greasy Git to the Seducer of Heroes and Heroines. Along the road, I kept finding myself observing and yearning.” He turned and knelt by the shaggy-haired wizard, setting the delicate china aside. “I found myself comparing everyone to the prickly pain in my arse that I knew. No one could get me so excited just by arguing.” He wove his fingers into that tantalizing head of hair. “And, no one…I emphasize, **no one** …made me so hard I could drive five-inch nails into oaken beams with my cock, if he’d but ask me to.” His neck bent down and he laid his lips gently upon Remus’ surprised ones.

The kiss was sweet, it was gentle, and it was nothing like he’d imagined. Where was the bitter tang that leavened the sweetness? Where was the fire that could warm as well as burn? Then, those thin lips twisted and the bottom of the world fell out…

“Ooh…more…” Remus breathed into Severus’ mouth. “Give me more.” Somehow, the two of them fell to the floor, Snape cushioning the impact as his Gryffindor blanketed his body. Then the wily spy twisted and ended up on top.

“I’ll give you more if you tell me the truth: do you want me for more than one night, Lupin?” Severus kept himself above Remus’ pursed lips, enticing the answer he wanted more than air, even more than sex.

“Damn it, Snape!” The compact body flexed and bucked, rubbing parts together in a manner that would lead to the second Great London Fire if there wasn’t a kiss coming. “Fine! I want you. I want you to want me. I want to feed you licorice whips. I want to drape you in the damned things and lick and suck and generally gorge myself on you and your licorice.” He butted his head against the tell-tale proboscis hovering above him. “I want you to read to me, driving me mad with that mellifluous voice of yours until I scream with release. I want you to wake me up and tell me I’m hogging the blankets. I even want to see you when you’re grumpy because it’s part of who you are. So, if you think I don’t want you, (a) you haven’t been listening and (b) that is definitely not a banana in my pocket.” Then, he gave a great heave and rolled the two of them over, straddling his very own Slytherin.

The wide grin on Severus’ face was so joyous, Remus was almost blinded. The bulge that throbbed against his thigh practically hummed with happiness. “Oh, I know you want me, but until now, until you finally found your Gryffindor balls I wasn’t certain if you **wanted** me. And, that fabulous cock almost bursting through your placket reinforces the claim.” He stretched and leisurely writhed between his soon-to-be-lover’s thighs. The resulting choking gasp was music to his ears.

“Are you telling me that this was a set-up? A ploy to get me to air my feelings?” Remus writhed against Severus, more like a cat in heat than a lycanthrope in love. He tore open the green satin shirt, scattering buttons to all sides and revealing the lean torso beneath. Leaning down and nuzzling into the pale skin, mouthing the scars that littered its surface, Remus breathed in the essence of Severus Snape and found it most pleasing. His kisses elicited a range of sounds that all wove together to let him know he was making Severus very, very happy at this turn of events. “Why didn’t you just chase me and catch me like the others?” he wondered against that silky skin, his tongue tracing the veins bulging under it.

“Remus…oh, Remus!” The Slytherin bucked and undulated between his Gryffindor’s powerful thighs, seeking skin-on-skin contact, but to no avail. Black eyes, so dilated that the pupils almost swallowed the whites, snapped open. “I want your body next to mine, you pillock! I want to wrap you in silks and licorice and whatever else I damn well please, including myself! I want to feel your skin grow damp with desire against mine, sticking us together in the most delightful manner! Hell’s Bells, Lupin, I want to love you!” he roared.

All movement on Remus’ part ceased. The silence that descended was deafening. Both men on the floor looked flabbergasted, but, for Severus’ part, he looked determined. He reached up and pulled that greyed shaggy head towards himself. “I want to find out all about you, Remus,” he whispered against those enticing lips. “I want to lose myself, to find myself, within you,” he breathed into Remus’ mouth.

“I want all those things and more, Severus.” Remus took control and kissed the man who had been influencing his fantasies for years. After a count of ten, the Gryffindor simply melted across the Slytherin’s bare chest, kissing, sucking, lipping and licking. When it finally ended, neither man had much breath, but, somehow, Remus gasped, “You taste of licorice and you smell of sin…I love that combination.”

**~~~ Finis ~~~**

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_~~~ Comments, like rain in the desert, are greatly appreciated.  
Thank you for reading.  
_

§§§º§§§º§§§

* Spenser, Edmund (1553-1599), Canto XI, St. 54, **[The Faerie Queen](http://www.uoregon.edu/~rbear/fqintro.html)**


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